


Four days

by StAnni



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Alternate Ending, Angst and Feels, Complicated Relationships, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-15
Updated: 2019-05-15
Packaged: 2020-03-05 20:20:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18836053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StAnni/pseuds/StAnni
Summary: But Eliot doesn’t move and he puts a firm but soft hand on Quentin’s shoulder. “So, I was an asshole.” He says quietly, “I was an insecure, self-preservist…lying…asshole.”





	Four days

They’re living together, but they’re not living together. 

It’s four of them in the apartment with Penny and Julia sharing one of the three bedrooms. It used to be that some nights they would end up making out, groping, sometimes fucking and then falling asleep in Eliot’s room afterwards and a few of those Quentin creeps back to his own room after staring at the roof for hours while Eliot softly breathed against his shoulder.

They’re may have been together, but they may not have been together. 

A while ago Penny set Eliot up with some hedge and Eliot actually went. Sure he asked Quentin if there was, like, a reason why he shouldn’t and sure Quentin just shrugged and shook his head no. Sure. Because they weren’t together, not really. 

And then after, when Alice came back for a few days, or when she had the mind to stay before that all went to shit - again, Quentin cleared a drawer for her in his room. For about a week he didn’t go to Eliot’s room – not that he could, anyway, since Eliot was basically never home anyway.

So it’s a little weird, maybe even a little tense. Julia and Penny starts this non-verbal thing when it’s particularly quiet on nights when they are all at home and eventually Penny corners Quentin in the kitchen “We’re going to the Alps for a vacation from this nightmare. Sort this shit out.”

“Talk to him” Julia advises the afternoon before they leave, and also rolling her eyes just a bit – Penny rubbing off on her, and Quentin sighs, shaking his head. “Like how would that even go?” Penny, huffing in irritation, leans against the wall and gives Julia a “come on” look, to which she returns a warning glare and then a warm smile to Quentin. “Q, I love you. Always. But you need to figure this out.”

Eliot only comes back to the apartment after ten that night and picks a grape from the fruit bowl as he walks over to the small living/dining area where Quentin is struggling to keep himself awake with a book. “You’re up late.” Eliot observes as he hangs up his coat and Quentin closes the book “Couldn’t sleep.”

Eliot regards him for a beat just too long before he takes off his scarf, revealing the slight red mark of a bite or a kiss there – probably unwittingly, but Quentin’s stomach still turns to sour. “You should try one of Julia’s text books, I recommend “Probate Process””, he gives Quentin a quick smile “Knock you right out.”

Heading to his bedroom he gives Eliot’s shoulder a friendly, familiar squeeze and on a split-second decision, he takes a hold of Eliot’s hand and keeps him there. Eliot doesn’t move or pull away, but waits there and when Quentin looks up at him over his shoulder his expression is neutral but guarded.

“Maybe we can watch a movie or something? In your room?”

It is so lame and Quentin can actually feel the blood rush to his face. But Eliot is kind – mostly – and smiles, taking a second, before he responds “Maybe, ” and then, with a soft sigh and another squeeze he does take his hand away, and goes to sit down in front of Quentin, “But maybe we should just talk instead.”

The thing with talking to Eliot, the truly frightening thing is that Eliot, as patient, sweet and caring Eliot is, he is also sharp, eloquent and a ninja at evasion. Quentin, already feeling the familiar sting of defeat, sits back, shrugs “Sure, I guess we can try.”

Eliot, seeing his very apparent exasperation gives a slight frown, amused but also concerned. “What?” he asks, touching Quentin’s hand on the table with his.

“Nothing.” Quentin shrugs, not meeting Eliot’s gaze – because what’s the use. “Except you’re just going to…” 

Eliot pulls his hand away and Quentin stops and he’s only seen Eliot truly pissed off a handful of times, and maybe livid only once or twice, but the look Eliot gives him now is completely unreadable and verging just in between ticked off and incensed. “What am I going to do?”

When Eliot is angry, it is a force of nature – all focus and intensity. When Quentin is angry it is a glum marshland of self-pity. And right now Quentin is getting angry at Eliot being angry. “You know what you do.”

They’ve had a version of this argument before, albeit much more sparse and clipped – the last time Quentin was sneaking out of Eliot’s room. “So what if she sees?” Eliot had said, exhausted and Quentin hushed him “Hey, jeez, keep it down.”

In a stare-off, like they have now, Quentin is always, always the loser and he gives up without even really trying. “You don’t “overthink”.” Quentin spits the words, feeling the stubborn roots of inadequacy grip hold of his heart. 

Eliot, uncharacteristically riled, bites back immediately “Well, around you it’s a survival skill.”   
Quentin is dumbfounded and hurt, standing up with a loud scrape of his chair “What the hell does that mean?” 

Eliot shakes his head with a short shocked laugh, and gets up too, moving away from the table as he waves Quentin off. “Forget it, go ask Alice.”

“You’re ridiculous” Quentin, heart pounding madly, breathes and Eliot stops, dead. “You’re still mad about the fact that I didn’t just immediately fall into your arms when you finally had your moment of clarity or whatever.” The look that Eliot gives him is pure insult and Quentin feels like he could strangle Eliot right there. “So this is all punishment.”

Eliot closes the few feet between them in a second and his proximity, tense and hovering, is almost overwhelming. “You don’t want this.” Eliot attacks, “You pretend you do. You convince yourself, from time to time, that you do. Then you fuck it all up, fucking me up in the process.” Eliot is breathing hard and there is something broken behind his glassy glare, something Quentin has not noticed before. 

“How did I fuck it all up?” Quentin asks, unfooted and sincere. 

And Eliot’s smirk is quick and cutting before he says again, enunciating “Ask. Alice.”

When Eliot first came back, or at least, when the monster left, and Eliot was back – his revelation to Quentin, that he had been wrong, that they were meant to be together, had come at the worst most painful time. And Eliot knew it. “Right now, I can’t.” Quentin had explained. “I can’t do that to Alice.” 

But he could do it to Eliot. 

He doesn’t know where to even attempt to start to unravel the tangle that Eliot is referring to, but Eliot makes it easy – vulnerable and even angrier because of it – his voice is low and almost shaking “You are in my bed the Monday night and then the Tuesday you’re on the phone with what you claim to be your ex-girlfriend, making plans for her to move in with you, for fuck’s sake!” and Quentin quips back, and it’s weak – he knows – but it’s still a fucking factor “You are going on dates left, right and center!”  
“"Left, right and center"?!” Eliot laughs, this time taking a step back – giving a condescending shake of his head. “One fucking date. One date. That you couldn’t have given a fuck about, by the way.”

They’re back to to-and-fro and Quentin counters “One date? Tell me that disgusting hickey is still from your one date two months ago!” which Eliot meets with a gut punch, “I’m done with you, Quentin. Done. You’re a fucking bad habit.”

The next morning Quentin makes sure to stay in his room until he is dead-certain that Eliot has left for work. He’s reeling, but thankfully numb on account of the sleep-deprivation, after the fight, and he knows that the remainder of the next two weeks will be unbearable.

A bad habit.

It takes about an hour to get a bag packed and luckily Kady has a couch he can sleep on until he finds another place. He is only vaguely aware that Julia will have a fit when she comes home, but that’s a problem for another day.

“You look like crap.” Kady offers when she opens the door but she makes up for it with copious amounts of beer and shallow conversation. She specifically avoids asking about Eliot which is telling and embarrassing but he is grateful for the reprieve.

“Stay as long as you want.” She says, patting his knee before she goes to bed. “Mi casa and all that.”

She shakes her head and flicks off the light, then more to herself than to him “You morons.”

Four days pass and not a word from Eliot. Not a fucking word. 

When he finally does need to go back to the apartment to get more clothes, he is purposefully messy, untossing the mail on the kitchen counter as he goes through it, leaving the bathroom cabinet open after he gets a new pack of contacts. 

He’s swimming in a thick fog of misery and self-indulgence, and also just a crippling, flat out missing – missing Julia, missing… even Penny. Missing Eliot. 

Eliot’s room is perfect, as always – and Quentin knows that he shouldn’t be in there – that the gutted out feeling is not going to get better by breathing in Eliot’s sweater or feeling the firm give of Eliot’s cushion behind his head. And it certainly doesn’t feel awesome when he finally gets up to find Eliot leaning, arms crossed, in the doorway – gazing at him with that same unreadable expression.

“Shit, sorry…” Quentin starts, pushing himself up from the bed and Eliot shrugs, and gives a dry smirk. “Where the fuck have you been?”

Quentin, straitening the bed sheet, answers, because fuck it – he’s on the stalkery back-foot now “Kady’s. I’m staying on her couch.”

“Kady’s.” Eliot nods and Quentin shrugs “I figured it was either her or Tod, and I can’t deal with that amount of…Todness right now.”

Eliot actually smiles fully to the quip and uncrosses his arms. “Anyway, I just came to get some more clothes” Quentin finishes and moves to push past Eliot in the door.

But Eliot doesn’t move and he puts a firm but soft hand on Quentin’s shoulder. “So, I was an asshole.” He says quietly, “I was an insecure, self-preservist…lying…asshole.” 

“You’re only saying that now.” Quentin says, pushing against the hope rising in his heart “Because you feel bad.”

And Eliot smiles, his hand moving from Quentin’s shoulder to his cheek, as if it is the most natural thing in the world, as if it is a lifetime ago and they’re in Fillory and all the shit in between didn’t tear everything apart “I do feel bad, Q.” He says, and the simplicity of his statement – the honesty of it, slips under Quentin’s skin. 

“I shouldn’t have called Alice.” Quentin says, because it’s true now and it was true then and maybe it did fuck everything up. Eliot nods but smiles, giving Quentin’s cheek a soft playful slap. “Yeah, you shouldn’t have.” 

And then they both take half a step back, and the air feels lighter somehow, better “And I shouldn’t have been fucking around either.” 

It’s not fixed, it’s still a mess and there are shattered insults and debris everywhere. But at least it is not that dark anymore.

Quentin sighs, shakily but with a smile and Eliot smirks, “Todness.” And shakes his head again. 

Quentin is the one to step forward now, lean in, and with Eliot’s arms curling around his shoulders he feels the wounds start to close.   
“Will you come home?” Eliot asks, his chin on Quentin’s brow and Quentin closes his eyes, taking in the warmth of Eliot’s chest. “Yes, please.”


End file.
